Eye of the Needle Read Online Free PDF Page B

with her. She almost changed her mind about Lawrence’s trumpets and cymbals. David got out of bed immediately afterward.
    “Don’t go,” she said.
    “Somebody might come in.”
    “I’ll chance it. Come back to bed.” She was warm and drowsy and comfortable, and she wanted him beside her.
    He put on his robe. “It makes me nervous.”
    “You weren’t nervous five minutes ago.” She reached for him. “Lie with me. I want to get to know your body.”
    Her directness obviously embarrassed him, and he turned away.
    She flounced out of bed, her lovely breasts heaving. “You’re making me feel cheap!” She sat on the edge of the bed and burst into tears.
    David put his arms around her and said: “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. You’re the first for me, too, and I don’t know what to expect, and I feel confused…I mean, nobody tells you anything about this, do they?”
    She snuffled and shook her head in agreement, and it occurred to her that what was really unnerving him was the knowledge that in eight days’ time he had to take off in a flimsy aircraft and fight for his life above the clouds; so she forgave him, and he dried her tears, and they got back into bed. He was very sweet after that….
    She was just about ready. She examined herself in a full-length mirror. Her suit was faintly military, with square shoulders and epaulettes, but the blouse beneath it was feminine, for balance. Her hair fell in sausage curls beneath a natty pill-box hat. It would not have been right to go away gorgeously dressed, not this year; but she felt she had achieved the kind of briskly practical, yet attractive, look that was rapidly becoming fashionable.
    David was waiting for her in the hall. He kissed her and said, “You look wonderful, Mrs. Rose.”
    They were driven back to the reception to say good-bye to everyone. They were going to spend the night in London, at Claridge’s, then David would drive on to Biggin Hill and Lucy would come home again. She was going to live with her parents—she had the use of a cottage for when David was on leave.
    There was another half-hour of handshakes and kisses, then they went out to the car. Some of David’s cousins had got at his open-top MG. There were tin cans and an old boot tied to the bumpers with string, the running-boards were awash with confetti, and “Just Married” was scrawled all over the paintwork in bright red lipstick.
    They drove away, smiling and waving, the guests filling the street behind them. A mile down the road they stopped and cleaned up the car.
    It was dusk when they got going again. David’s headlights were fitted with blackout masks, but he drove very fast just the same. Lucy felt very happy.
    David said, “There’s a bottle of bubbly in the glove compartment.”
    Lucy opened the compartment and found the champagne and two glasses carefully wrapped in tissue paper. It was still quite cold. The cork came out with a loud pop and shot off into the night. David lit a cigarette while Lucy poured the wine.
    “We’re going to be late for supper,” he said.
    “Who cares?” She handed him a glass.
    She was too tired to drink, really. She became sleepy. The car seemed to be going terribly fast. She let David have most of the champagne. He began to whistle St. Louis Blues .
    Driving through England in the blackout was a weird experience. One missed lights that one hadn’t realized were there before the war: lights in cottage porches and farmhouse windows, lights on cathedral spires and inn signs, and—most of all—the luminous glow, low in the distant sky, of the thousand lights of a nearby town. Even if one had been able to see, there were no signposts to look at; they had been removed to confuse the German parachutists who were expected any day. (Just a few days ago in the Midlands, farmers had found parachutes, radios and maps, but since there were no footprints leading away from the objects, it had been concluded that no men had landed, and the whole